


Like I’ve Never Seen

by firstlooks



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Martino is 20 and Niccoló is 22, also it’s set a bit in the future, and also bc I wanted it to be angst free lol, no mention of Niccoló’s bpd bc I’m uneducated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-21 05:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17037365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlooks/pseuds/firstlooks
Summary: So now, he’s in a coffee shop, waiting for his date that’s already 20 minutes late, with a coffee stain on his nice shirt, having embarrassed himself in front of the most attractive guy he’s ever seen.Or,Martino hates dating but is willing to try, and Niccolò is the barista who works in the coffee shop where the dates occur (out of convenience, NOT because said barista is almost obnoxiously attractive)





	Like I’ve Never Seen

**Author's Note:**

> Me? A sucker for cheesy coffee shop AUs? It’s more likely than you think.
> 
> Anyways, this is my first fic for this fandom, so I kept it light and short.  
> I didn’t mention Niccolò’s bpd bc I hate writing about stuff I’m not educated on, and also because I want to keep the angst for later. For now, enjoy whatever this is <3  
> ((Seriously though, this fandom NEEDS more fanfics in general, but especially AUs. So here y’all go.))

It all started with a cup of coffee.

Martino has been throwing what must have seemed like death stares at it for the past two minutes or so. It was as though the drink insulted his whole entire family. And in that moment, it might as well have. Don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t the taste. That cute guy behind the counter must have worked hard on it. Or, as hard as you _can_ work on a cup of coffee, that is. The cute guy, whose eyes Marti couldn’t even meet properly while ordering, because, well, what kind of person looks like _that_ and works in a shitty coffee shop? Shouldn’t he be modeling somewhere in Milan and drinking expensive champagne on a rooftop or something?

Anyway, he couldn’t even taste the coffee because, the moment he took a small sip, he burned his tongue, spilled a little bit on his _nice_ shirt, which he only wears on dates (so, very _very_ rarely), threw a few curse words here and there that attracted some stares from people around him, which included, you guessed it, the cute barista.

So really, the coffee could taste like it was made in heaven, by an actual angel (which, it kind of was, when he thinks about it), and given to Marti directly from god himself, and he would still have a personal problem with it and remember it as _the worst cup of coffee he has ever had™._

Okay, he might be overdramatizing it. He just really wasn’t in a good mood for anything, let alone a _date_. A _Tinder_ date, to be exact. If there’s one thing Marti hates, it’s dates. Dates with people he has never met and doesn’t know pretty much anything about, besides their name and the fake persona they portray on their social media? Torture.

If you were to ask him, he wouldn’t know exactly _why_ he put himself in this situation. It was probably a mixture of loneliness, his college assignments stressing him out, and Filippo’s constant nagging to “just get a Tinder already and stop sulking”. He loves his housemate, he really does. He’s one of the only people that Marti can be himself around, without worrying about what they might think. But sometimes, he can be a real pain in the ass. A  _very_ convincing pain in the ass. 

So now, he’s in a coffee shop, waiting for his date that’s already 20 minutes late, with a coffee stain on his nice shirt, having embarrassed himself in front of the most attractive guy he’s ever seen. He can’t wait to tell this exact thing to Fillipo, which will hopefully stop him from his unrelenting pestering to “get himself out there”. _Love won’t just magically find you in that damn bed of yours_. Filippo had told him once. _You have to look for it._

 _It won’t find me in this stupid coffee shop_ , _either_ , he thinks. The date hasn’t even started yet, and it’s already a disaster.

“Is there something wrong with your coffee?”

Marti looks up, hoping to god that the voice isn’t coming from _the_ barista, he really shouldn’t embarrass himself any further. It’s not good for his sleep schedule. He already has enough material of embarrassing things that keep him up at night.

He looks up, and locks eyes with his date. _Stefano_ , he reminds himself.

He’s... cute? Marti’s not that sure. He’s not even sure he would call _any_ guy cute anymore, when there’s someone like _that_ behind the counter just a few feet away from him.

He’s tall, a bit too tall for his liking. Short brown hair, brown eyes. There’s nothing too special about him, but Marti isn’t really the one to judge solely on looks. He himself isn’t that special either, who is he to comment on other people’s mediocrity.

After a few awkward moments, Marti finally speaks. “Oh, no. I was just... lost in thought”.

The guy, Stefano, smiles at him. He clumsily takes off his jacket, sitting across from Marti.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Marti replies, and he’s already over it, honestly. He just wants to go home, get in his sweatpants and binge on some trashy TV show in his bed. Love might not find him there, but neither will awkward situations such as this one.

But, alas, he’s not that much of a dick. It’s not the poor guy’s fault that Marti is so grumpy, and for no particular reason. He’s just going to bite his tongue and get this thing over with. Oh, he can already imagine the amount of _I told you so_ ’s that will leave his mouth the moment he sets foot in their apartment. The thought alone is enough to get him through this.

“I’m so sorry I’m this late. The traffic was crazy, probably because of the shit weather.”

Really? The traffic? If you're going to be late, _like 20 minutes late,_ at least come up with a better excuse. 

“No, it’s fine, you weren’t that late.” Marti gives him a smile, which he hoped was reassuring, but was probably more bitter than anything. “So, do you want to order?”

“Actually, I need to go to the bathroom real quick, can you order for me, please? A chocolate mocha?” Stefano said, while standing up, looking around, presumably to find the bathroom.

“Oh, yeah sure”

Marti heads for the counter, having somehow completely forgotten about the presence of the pure beauty behind it. He should probably stop thinking about how attractive the barista is when he’s on an actual date with another guy. But how can anyone blame him? With his perfect raven curls, chiseled jawline, and very pink, very kissable lips, the guy looked like an actual work of art.

Besides, it’s not like he has a chance with him. With Martino’s luck, the guy is probably: a) straight, b) taken, and c) all of the above. It would be a crime _not_ to appreciate such beauty before him.

“You’re back!” The guy says excitedly, with such a wide, happy smile, that Marti isn’t sure what to do with himself. _A disaster gay_ , Filippo has called him, on more occasions than he’d like to admit, and Marti can’t help but secretly agree. He is definitely gay, and he is definitely a disaster. He’s not even sure how he’s functioning as an actual 20-year-old kind-of adult.

“I’m back!” He smiles back, trying to look anywhere but the guy’s mouth.

His eyes land on his name tag. Oh yeah, those exist. They’re just very hard to notice when the person wearing them has a face of some Roman God statue, or whatever.

 _Niccolò_. Martino wants to say it out loud, just to feel it out, see how it sounds on his lips. He won’t though, that would be embarrassing. Maybe later. At night. In bed, preferably.

“Was there something wrong with your drink? I swear I didn’t spit in it or anything.” He says in a teasing tone, his smile somehow getting even wider.

“Oh, no. Just burned my tongue on it. It was exquisite, than you.” _Exquisite_? What is he, the fucking queen of England? Sometimes, when Marti forgets how to speak like a normal person, he starts using words no 20-year-old would probably ever use, in order to overcompensate. It never ends well.

Niccolò laughs. And if Martino thought that his smile was going to be the end of him, well, he’s got a big storm coming.

“Well, I’m glad. How can I help you, then?”

“I want to order for a... friend? A chocolate mocha?” He’s pretty sure he wanted to say that as a statement. But it came out as more of a question.

“You don’t sound very sure of it.” Niccolò replies, still laughing. Not really in a mocking tone, which Marti was grateful for. It was more of a _this situation is very amusing, but in a cute way_ kind of laugh, at least that’s what Marti was going to tell himself.

He throws a confused glance at Marti’s now empty table, and then back to Marti.

 _Great. Now he thinks I’m an actual crazy person, grabbing a coffee with my imaginary friend_.

“No, I am, I am. He’s just in the bathroom so I’m ordering for him” He’s laughing now, too. “One chocolate mocha, please.”

“Alright, coming right up. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Uhh. Stefano.”

They exchange smiles, and Marti's heart was beating a bit too fast. He starts walking back to his, or _their_ table. Right. The date. With a guy. That he actually has a chance with.

 

///

The guy turned out to be extremely boring.  
Again, Marti’s not one to judge. We aren’t put on this earth to entertain other people. But the conversations were so stale, so forced. He found himself yawning a couple of times, which he was aware was pretty disrespectful, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

After about an hour and a half of this torture, once they ran out of topics, such as the weather or what they’re studying, they went to leave the coffee shop, with Marti throwing a final glance at Niccolò.

Niccolò smiled at him, _does that boy ever not smile?_ , and, with a small wave, shouted “Bye, Martino!” just loud enough for him and his date to hear.

 _He remembered my name_. Is all he could think. Well, he’s fucked.

 

///

While he was describing in detail this failure of a date to Filippo, who looked like he was going to burst in laughter any second now, he realized, maybe for the first time, that he was probably going to die alone. It’s a thought that visits him occasionally, usually late at night when he can’t sleep, but he always tries to distract himself from it, not think about it too much.

But right now, sitting on the kitchen counter, drinking his first, and definitely not the last coffee of the day, while telling Fillipo about yesterday’s less than ideal experience, he’s slowly coming to terms with it.

He’s 20, almost 21, he’s never had a boyfriend (unless you count that friends with benefits situation he had with that guy in his first year of college), never even came close to being in love. He thought he was, once, with Gio, his best friend to this day, which just makes him laugh now. He was young, just exploring his sexuality, still so unsure of anything. Of course he’s going to think he’s in love with the person he is closest to. But that wasn’t real.

And he’s starting to think that he’ll never experience loving someone and being loved back. It just doesn’t look like a possibility. It’s as if he’s too old now to experience something, which most people go through at a much younger age, for the first time.

 _It’s too early for this shit_. He shakes his head, in a poor attempt to get away from those thoughts, or at least make them blurry and hard to concentrate on, and looks at Filippo.

Those _I told you so_ ’s, that he was so eager to blurt out the day before, didn’t feel as satisfying as he had hoped.

“You do realize that bad dates happen, right? Like, all the time? It’s like rule number one of dating. Expect shitty dates.”

“I know but, it wasn’t because of the guy or anything. It was my fault. I just don’t think I’m cut out for that stuff.”

“What stuff, dating?”

“I mean love, in general.” Okay. He’s getting too deep again. It’s not even 10 am yet.

“Nah. You don’t know shit. Some people meet their soulmates at, like, 50. You’re only 20. You have time. Stop being a grumpy cat.” He playfully rumples Marti’s hair, while taking a gulp of his own coffee.

“Grumpy cat? What are we? In 2012?”

“Shut up. Go on Tinder, and find another date for this Friday. No discussion.” Sometimes, Marti wants to kill Filippo.

“Absolutely not.”

///

 

So, he’s on another date. He’s not sure if Filippo has some kind of magical powers, or if Marti is just plain dumb.

This guy is somehow even more boring than the last one. It’s not that he lacks in things to say, quite the opposite. For the entirety of the past hour, he’s spent talking about...Marti’s not even sure. He tuned out about 20 minutes ago, trying to catch Niccolò’s eyes every once in a while. And, yeah, he’s back in the coffee shop. He didn’t particularly choose this place on _purpose_. It’s just, they were talking, trying to decide where to meet, and Marti, in the spur of the moment, without even thinking, suggested this place, as it _was_ pretty close to both of them. It had nothing to do with the gorgeous barista that works there. Nothing at all.

Later on, he kind of regretted that decision, because the guy, Niccolò, was still working there. He was still almost unbelievably attractive. And he still remembered Marti’s name. All of those things combined make Marti try to actually enjoy this date even less.

This guy wasn’t late like the last one, he was even a bit early, but Marti kind of wishes he was. He didn’t even get the chance to talk to Niccolò, because the guy, Matteo, decided to order for them. They just exchanged _Hi_ ’s and smiled at each other, which was still enough for Marti to forget why he was here.

“I have to go to the bathroom”, Marti blurtes out after a while, practicality running away from the table, almost tripping over his own feet. He just needed a moment of silence. He’s not sure if he wants to talk to anyone ever again. Or at least for the rest of the day.

Once he had spent probably two minutes just sitting in the stall and silently laughing to himself, because, well, he has to look at this with humor in order to not just start screaming in the middle of a coffee shop, he goes on to wash his hands.

And, would you look at that. Just his luck.

He stands next to Niccolò, concentrating a bit too much on soaping up his hands, never mind that he didn’t actually go to the bathroom. Hygiene is just really important to Marti, okay?

Niccolò looks at him through the wide mirror in front of them, giving him that signature smile of his. “Hi”.

“Hey,”. Marti can’t really think straight. He can’t even think gay. He can’t think. Period.

“So... How was the coffee today? I tried to make it less hot this time”

Giggling, like an idiot that he is, Marti starts drying his hands. Again, he’s giving too much taught into such a mundane task, trying to occupy himself. “It was perfect, thank you” he smiles at him and... And he thinks he can do this. So what if this guy is too attractive for his own good? Physical appearance means nothing, and it certainly shouldn’t make you act like a shy 6-year-old girl in front of a boy she likes.

And it’s not that he likes him, mind you. He only knows his name and face, pretty much nothing else. Maybe he’s a serial killer. Maybe he kicks puppies for fun. Maybe he’s one of those people who play their music out loud on a bus, instead of using headphones.

And yeah, he _seems_ nice. And there’s just something about him that Marti likes. But you can never really know.

“Is your date enjoying their drink?”

Marti doesn’t even think Matteo drank two sips of that damn ice tea he ordered, which, by the way, who orders ice tea in the middle of December? He was too busy talking about his business degree or something. Ugh. Fucking business students.

Wait...

“Um, why do you think he’s my date?” He got nervous at this point. What if he’s homophobic or something? It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, a lot of people in Italy are. More old than young, but you never really know.

“Oh, he's not? Sorry. He just looks like he’s trying to woo you.”

He looked at Niccolò, trying to read his expression. _So he’s been watching us. Huh._

He started laughing now, for no reason, really. Again, at some situations you just have to laugh.

“I mean, yeah we’re on a date, but, _woo_ me? Have you seen that guy? He hasn’t stopped talking about himself the whole time. That’s not a good way to woo people.”

Niccolò smiled at him, again, and this is one of those situations where Marti curses his parents for not forcing him to take up painting when he was young, in order for him to become, like, a prodigy or something by this time, so he could paint Niccolò’s smile at this exact moment in detail. But, alas, Marti is one of those people who have no talents whatsoever, unless you count his ability to stay in bed for a surreal amount of time as one.

“Yeah, I’m not too keen on him, either. Who orders ice tea in December?”

Okay. Marti’s in love.

“Exactly what I was thinking. Also, he’s a business student.”

Niccolò made a face, that Marti can only describe as the kind of face he makes when he tastes anything Filippo tries to cook when he randomly decides that they should be “more adult”.

“Ew. A future businessman who drinks ice tea in December. How are you still here?”

Marti laughs. “I don’t really know. My housemate says that ‘I should give everyone a chance’ and that ‘I’ll stay alone forever if I don’t’.”

“Well, he is right. Bad dates happen. It’s a fact”.

“Why does everyone say that?!” Marti laughs, very amused by this whole conversation.

“Because it’s true. The first date I ever had, the girl couldn’t stop talking about how much I looked like her ex. And also, she called me the wrong name the entire time, and I just didn’t have the heart to correct her”. Niccolò said through laughter, and Marti would have laughed genuinely too, if he wasn’t so stuck on that one word. _Girl_. As in - female. As in - not a boy. Damn it.

He’s straight. Which, he had figured, but still. It’s one thing to guess, and another to know. Damn it.

“Ouch. How did that turn out?”

“It didn’t.” He smiled. Damn it.

“Anyway, I should probably get back. He might think I ran away or something.”

“You should. But hey, if you have your next date here too, and the person turns out horrible as well, you can always complain about them to me. You get to vent, and I get to laugh a bit”

“Deal” Marti smiles, and with that, he returns to his date.

 _Yeah right_. No way is he having a date here again. This was just a one time, wait, _two_ time thing.

///

It became a thing. Marti isn’t exactly sure how, he explicitly remembers telling himself that this _won’t_ happen. But it did.

It’s been a month, and every Friday Marti has had a date, with a different person every time, at the same coffee place every time.

And every time, it would go like this: Marti would meet someone on Tinder who seemed cool from the few conversations they had over text, he would meet them at _the_ coffee shop, he would (definitely not) by chance always get there a bit earlier than he was supposed to.

He would talk to Niccolò the entire time, conversation flowing from one topic to another so easily.

They would go from talking about Nico’s weirdest customers he’d had that week (“ _And then, she just put her dog on the counter anyway, even though I repeatedly told her not to, and the dog started running and he knocked everything off the counter, including my tip jar!”. “Oh my god. Did she apologize?” “Nope. She just started screaming at me to call the manager, like it was my fault.” “Damn. It seems like I’m the only normal customer you get.” “You? Please. You’re so picky about your drinks, I have to cool them for you like you’re a baby” “Shut up._ ”) to betting on how Marti’s date will actually end up ( “ _I bet he has some weird kink.” “Huh?” “You know, like a foot fetish or something. He seems like one of those.” “Ni! You can’t see that just from a picture of someone. And anyway, I bet we won’t even get to that point for me to find out. He seems even more boring than the history major from last week.” “True._ ”).

Then, the date would come, Marti would have an awful time, or, at the very best, an okay-but-not-so-much-that-I-want-to-see-you-again time. He would complain about it to Nico, who would mostly laugh, and after the date was over, they would just keep talking.

(“ _I think I’m going to die alone.”_  
_“Nope, no way.”_  
_“How do you know? I’ve had seven dates in the past seven weeks, with seven different people, and I’ve liked exactly zero of them.”_  
_“I just know. There’s no way someone like you can end up alone. Be patient, young one.”_  
_“You’re two years older than me.”_ )

///

He eventually started going to the coffee shop on most days of the week, not just his Friday date nights. He learned Niccolò’s shift schedule, and slowly, but surely, Niccolò was becoming one of the most important people in his life.

It was fine. Everything was fine.

///

This went on until week ten.

Week ten was a week of realization for Marti.

Realization 1: He was falling in love with Niccolò.

It didn’t really come as a shock to him.

He was in his room, looking for his phone charger absentmindedly, getting ready to go to his Psychology lecture, when he found a note Nico left him on the back of his bill last week.

_I looked this guy up on Facebook, and it turns out he’s a sexist piece of shit. Also, he posts memes from 2013 xx :)_

_P.S. Your hair looks cute today_

(When Marti read that, once Nico handed it to him with his second coffee, while said guy was waiting for him to return, he had to:  
1) Try to manage not to laugh out loud, and  
2) Find a way to cut this date short immediately.

He knew something was off the moment the guy, Daniel, said ‘lol’ out loud. Not even ironically. On more than one occasion.)

He kept the note, for some unknown reason. But now, reading it again, the only thought that went through his head was

_Damn it. I’m falling in love with him._

The first person he told was Gio.

They were playing fifa on his couch, as they do, and there’s something about this exact situation, maybe the comfort of it all, that makes Marti want to confess all his secrets. This is how he came out to him back in high school and this is how he told him that he _used to_ have a crush on him.

And Gio, bless his soul, always reacts exactly how Marti wants _everyone_ to react to any secret he tells them. He smiles, shakes his head fondly, turns his head back to the game, and carries on talking about it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Filippo, on the other hand, gives much more... _strong_ reactions.

( _“What?! How did I not know about this?!Are you an idiot? Tell me all about him right now immediately_.”)

But hey, it’s one of the things he loves about him.

Realization 2: He can’t have Niccolò, because Niccolò is, not only presumably straight, as he hasn’t mentioned liking boys at all in the two months he has known him, but he also has a girlfriend.

He doesn’t know much about her. Just that her name is Maddalena, she’s a med student, and she’s pretty (going from that picture Marti made Nico show him, which he regretted immediately. He liked it better without knowing how she looked like. He liked it best not knowing she existed at all).

Nico didn’t talk much about her. Or, at all really. It came up in conversation once (“ _So, enough about my failure of a love life,what about yours?” “Um, I have a girlfriend.” “Oh. Cool. (It wasn’t cool.) “What’s her name?” “Maddalena.” “Nice.” (It wasn’t nice)_ ), but not much after that. Marti didn’t dare question it. It was a bit weird, that they’ve been dating for a few years now and he never mentions her. But Marti was fine with that. More than fine, even. Out of sight, out of mind, wasn’t it? Or, in his case, out of sound, out of mind.

 _The week of realization_ wasn’t really a whole week, actually. It was more of a three day process. He realized all the important truths on Monday, accepted them on Tuesday, and told everyone he thought should know (Filippo, Gio, Elia, Luca; reactions varied, but all of them had the same concluding question: “What are you going to do?”) on Wednesday.

To answer the question, this was what he was going to do:

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He’s not going to tell Niccolò, that’s for damn sure. What exactly would he get from that? It would just be awkward and weird and _don’t worry we can still be friends_ , but Marti knew that they wouldn’t really. They would try,  _he_ would try, but he would probably just resent him in the end. 

So, on Thursday, he’ll go to the coffee shop, like he usually does, he’ll act like Niccolò wasn’t the best part of his day, and he’ll carry on with life.

(The depressing thought that he would probably never get to fall in love or be loved from a few months ago popped into his head. Well, at least he knows the first half of it isn’t true. Maybe just the latter. Even more depressing)

///

 

“I don’t know. I don’t really like him from what I’ve heard” Nico says while wiping the counter top for what felt like the 20th time in the past hour.

Marti has been texting this guy for a few days now, and he seems pretty cool actually. At least through text, he managed to make Marti laugh a few times, and they seem to have things in common.

He’s not Niccolò, but so what? Nobody is. Does that mean that he should stay alone forever because of a guy he can never have?

No. If he’s going to stay alone forever, it will be because of the original reason. His inability to form close romantic relationships with people because his inexperience makes him self-conscious and anxious.

“Oh, come on. He actually seems nice. And besides, you never like any of the guys I date.”

“That’s because they’re all either really bland, or they’re too much of a dick. Also, you never like them either.” He smiles, finally putting away the paper towel.

“True. But, I don’t like them because I’m unrealistically picky. You’re supposed to cheer me on and shit.”

“Nah. Picky is good. You deserve more than any of those guys have to offer.”

Seriously, Nico has to stop with the compliments. At first it was cute, now it just gives Marti this false sense of hope.

“And anyway, you can’t go on a date with him tomorrow. You have plans.” Nico says, turning around to wipe the coffee machine.

“I do?”

“Yup, we’re going to the movies. I’ve just realized we’ve been friends for this long, and we never see each other outside of this damn place. Plus, you need a break from all those dates.”

“Okay.” Is really all he can blurt out.

Seeing Nico? Outside of... here? Not being separated by a counter? Or interrupted in the middle of a conversation by a customer? That seems nice.

Or, it would, if it wasn’t for the fact that Marti’s pretty sure he’s in love with him, and any situation that involves the two of them, alone, might not end well. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t _try_ anything, per se, but his impulse control hasn’t been that great lately.

“I’m done at eight? You can meet me here and then we’ll go” Nico smiles, and god damn it. That stupid smile is what got him into this situation in the first place. A few months ago, he was sulking about being alone, and now he’s sulking about being Nico-less. Again, the latter seems to be more depressing.

“Okay.”

///

Marti has always liked the feeling when you have just left the movie theater.

All the colors seem brighter, objects appear sharper. It’s kind of like being high. But different.

That’s how he feels now, walking next to Nico, listening to him ramble on about why the movie disappointed him in more ways than one. Marti didn’t really pay that much attention to the movie, most of it going to the way Nico was _so close_ , his forearm touching his own on the arm rest. That small contact of skin was enough to make it hard for Marti to concentrate, but from what he got, the movie was pretty cool.

“God, you’re such a movie snob.” He teased, turning his head towards Nico.

“Fuck you. I just have an impeccable taste in movies. And you, mister ‘My favorite movie is Fight Club’, have no say in this.”

Fight Club isn’t actually his favorite movie. He saw it maybe two times, both with his dad when he was too young to understand it completely. He doesn’t think he even has a favorite. No movie has ever really left any kind of impact on him. He just said that to get Nico off his back (“What?! Everyone has a favorite movie! There has to be one!”).

“So, where to now?” Marti asks, checking his phone to see the time. 11.30.

“My place? I can finally educate you on the true genius that is The Great Beauty.”

(“You haven’t seen The Great Beauty? I can’t believe I’m friends with you.”)

“Okay.” Marti smiles. He’s too high from the movie theater and from being in Nico’s presence to really think this through. And why would he need to think it through, anyway? They’re two friends, hanging out at one of the friend’s apartment. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

///

“So, why don’t you live with Maddi?”

They’re on their second joint, both practically conjoined with the couch, the movie long forgotten. It actually seemed really good, and he made a mental note to check it out one day when he can fully pay attention. They just got carried away by conversation, and the weed, and each other.

(“Why do you keep your weed in a ukulele?” Marti laughed. “You live alone.”  
“Maddi hates when I smoke, and she sometimes goes through my stuff, so I had to find a hiding place.”  
“Oh. Do you play?”  
“Kind of. I’m more of a piano kind of guy”  
“Really? Who even _are_ you? Am I going to find out you’re some kind of musical genius?”  
“Maybe.”)

“I... Honestly, I feel like that would be the final straw for our relationship. It hasn’t been...ideal...for the past year or so. It’s like we’re scared to break up because we’re just so used to each other. I love her. But, more like a sister, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh.” _Oh_.

”Well, don’t expect any advice from me. Whenever my friends talk about their relationship problems with me, no matter how small and stupid the problem is, my go to response is ‘Break up with them’.

They forgot your birthday? Break up with them. They haven't texted back? Break up with them. They left the stove on?”

“Break up with them!” They both said in unison. Nico’s laughter echoed through the room, and Marti wanted to drown in it.

“You know, now that I think about it, she _does_ always leave the stove on.”

“There you go. It is a serious problem. Do you even know how many people die yearly because of it?”

“No.”

“Me neither. But it’s probably a lot.” He looks over at Nico, and he probably shouldn't have done that. Even in a sober state, it's very hard not to bask in Niccolò's ethereal beauty. But high? Practically impossible. 

 _You are so beautiful_ , he thinks.

Nico shifts his eyes towards Marti, his eyes saying something he couldn’t quite grasp. Shit, has he said that out loud? Weed makes him do some weird shit, man. Like, say stuff he wasn’t actually planning on saying.

“Bambi.” Nico almost whispers.

“What?” Did...did he hear that right? 

“Bambi. You look like Bambi. You know, because of your eyes. And hair. And overall cuteness.”

Now, compliments weren’t something new for Marti, especially in the past two months, what with all the guys trying to ‘woo’ him, as Nico would say. He still never knows how to react to them, usually he just smiles awkwardly and tries to move the conversation to something else. 

But a compliment in a form of comparing him to a baby deer? Marti practically melted on the spot. 

They looked at each other. It’s probably been just a few seconds, but it might as well been hours.

Now, Marti isn’t one to give into cheesy romantic tropes, such as  _Time stopped when I looked at him_  kind of bullshit. But it truly felt like that. It was probably the weed.

He hasn’t even noticed the way they started to slowly lean into each other, probably because he was too busy getting lost in those damn eyes. Fuck.

They were so close now, only a few millimeters apart, their noses almost touching. Their breaths mixed together, time and space around them diminishing completely.

_What the fuck is happening right now?_

“Hey Marti?”

“Yeah?”

They didn’t move an inch, besides for their lips in order to whisper the next few words to each other.

“Can I kiss you?”

If he was just a bit further away from him, Marti probably wouldn’t be able to hear what he said.

“Please.”

And, just like that, all racing thoughts Marti had prior to the moment their lips touched have vanished.

Marti has kissed a fair share of boys in his life. Most of them were either drunk make out sessions at a party, or meaningless hook ups.

But none of them, not even the ones that meant something to him, ever felt like this. Like it was both sobering him up, and getting him even higher. Like it was both a cold splash of water and a warm blanket. Like the excitement of exploring the unknown and the comfort of coming home at the same time.

 

///

 

Marti had been convinced he wasn’t much of a cuddler. And yeah, up until that point he never actually got an opportunity to. Nevertheless, it had seemed uncomfortable. He needed his space, goddamit.

But now, waking up in Nico’s arms, after a night of just that, of cuddling and soft kisses and knowing smiles, he might just change his mind. 

(Nico seems to be the only person that can actually change Marti’s mind. It’s one of the many talents he has.)

///

“I’m going to write a song about you.”

He said, after playing some familiar tune on the piano, once Marti finally convinced him to.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wanna know the name?” He turned his head towards Marti.

Marti just gave him a small fond nod.

“The boy who couldn’t wait for his coffee to cool down.”

“Wow. Sounds very deep. Is it going to make me cry?”

“Oh, you bet your ass it will.”

///

The next few days, Marti was happy.

The next few days, Marti was also uncertain.

And, whenever Marti’s uncertain about anything, he googles it.

( _Martino Rametta’s search history:_

 _-How do you know you’re in love?_  
_-How do you know if he loves you back?_  
_-Do people leave their long term girlfriends for someone else?_  
_-The Great Beauty watch online free_ )

He came to a few conclusions:

1\. He was definitely in love. He didn’t really need google for that.  
2\. Nico might love him back?  
3\. People _don’t_ usually leave their girlfriends for someone else, and  
4\. The Great Beauty is one of the best movies he has ever seen. That doesn’t say much, he has probably seen a total of 20? Maybe 30? But it’s still something. It definitely beats Fight Club.

///

 

The next day went a little something like this:

He burned his tongue on his morning coffee. He has a sensitive tongue, okay?

(In retrospect, he thinks that every time this happens, it’s a sign from the universe that something big will happen that day.)

He tried to do some college assignments, not getting past the step of changing the font to Times New Roman, size 12. Which was the first step. Second, if you count opening his laptop as a step. Which he does, thank you very much.

He tried _not_ to think about Nico, or the fact that he hasn’t heard from him in two days. So what? He’s probably busy. He doesn’t owe him anything.

He had lunch with Filippo (whose futile attempts at cheering him up even included letting him look through his Grindr conversations, which would usually bring Martino to tears, but now they only got a small chuckle out of him.) 

And then, around 6 pm, he got a text.

From: Ni

Hey, where are you?? We should talk xx

_We should talk_

That sentence would scare him, if it weren’t for the two x’s in the end. Who even sends those anymore? It’s adorable.

From: Marti

I’m at home. Now?

From: Ni

Yeah. Can I come over?

Marti replied with just his address.

///

“I broke up with Maddalena.” are the first words that Marti hears when he opens the door. He didn’t even get the chance to appreciate how good Nico looked, with his beanie on, his cheeks red from the cold outside.

_Seriously, who even allowed him to be so pretty?_

“Oh.”

“And I want to be with you.”

“ _Oh_.”

Marti made a mental note to work on his vocabulary some time in the future. And his facial expressions. And just being a human, really.

“Marti? Are you okay?”

“Uhh, yeah, yeah. Sorry, I’m just... surprised?”

“Surprised? Seriously?” Nico laughed, like Marti has just said the funniest joke he has ever heard.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I wasn’t sure you felt the same way.”

“Marti, I’ve basically been in love with you since the first time I saw you. I practically followed you in to the bathroom that one time just so we could talk.”

“What?! How was I supposed to know that?”

“You _do_ know that we have a different bathroom for the employees, right?”

And, yeah, he did learn that later on. He was just too dumb to add two and two together.

Following someone in to a bathroom would seem pretty creepy to Marti in any other situation. But right now? The bathroom might as well be the most romantic fucking place in the world.

“Hey Marti?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

The last time Marti heard those words, he felt like the world stopped spinning, like he would be fine with tomorrow never coming if it meant he could spend the rest of today with Nico’s lips on his own.

This time (and every other time after it, Marti will soon learn) it wasn’t any different.

“You never have to ask me that” Marti whispered while leaning in.

And, from that day onward, he never did.

///

The next Friday, Marti had a date.

But it wasn’t with someone he met on Tinder. He deleted that stupid app long ago. And it wasn’t in that same coffee shop.

No, it was with the most beautiful boy Marti has ever, and will ever see. 

The boy who loved him back.

And Friday date nights were still a thing; only now they meant something entirely different.

///

(A few years later, just a few hours before Nico proposed, Marti burned his tongue on his coffee.)

**Author's Note:**

> Now I kinda want to write all of this in Nico’s pov ahdhsjsja kill me
> 
> Also, I’ve just made a tumblr after a long break, so follow me if you want (my url is marlboroses) <3
> 
> (If someone wants to post this on their tumblr I would be eternally greatful, I have like no followers and nothing I post shows up in the tag for some reason lol)


End file.
